Every time I see the carcass of a dead animal, I am compelled to bury it. While this is usually not possible, I am obligated to try, under optimal conditions. Usually, I am exposed while driving my car. I do not slam on my brakes while doing 100 km. I do not stop traffic to remove the thing. I do not drag it off the course and bury it with a frown. It usually gets dumped somewhere on the side of the Road. At least, it will not face the indignity or have its guts squished out on the asphalt that already claimed it. I can only consider my pets and how I would feel discovering their intestines strewn about the highway. I am selective in my consideration. I rarely stop to help the animals that lie already dead at the side of the road.

            It was a massive pile of blood and guts on one end, and what was left of a cute and furry muskrat on the other. I had no idea that my partner was the one who had done the deed. For two days, I avoided it like any respectful person would. It just sat there, half guts, half creature, all roadkill.  Having dropped off the guilty culprit, I headed back from whence I had been. The beast was still there and I imagined that after all this time, it was festering. I could not help myself. My resolve to remove it had me pull over to the side of the road and pop my trunk. I simply grabbed a few plastic bags and doubled them up with each other to create a heavy glove. I took hold of the poor thing by its face and I dragged it to the edge of that thoroughfare. I dumped it into the long grasses that riddled the roadside. I discarded my cover into the backseat and I drove away. Unfortunately, you could still see pieces of that muskrat littering the route.

            The pig on the stick did not go round. The flames licked only the bottom of it. The rest sat pink and fresh and very much dead. It was almost more than I could handle. I have never been much of a pork eater and the eyes of the creature stared right through me. I avoided the pit for the rest of the day. When dinner was served, side dishes were all we dared to consume. I wasn’t even sure of them, if the truth be told. I felt like bacteria was lying in wait. We sat down to eat what we got and were joined by a nice enough lady and a few of her children. The fact they were indigenous is beside the point. As we picked at our food, somehow the topic of roadkill was brought up. I made a few smart ass comments and sat waiting for the chorus to join in. To my surprise, we did not see the matter in the same way. In fact, I learned that day, that roadkill was just as good as the store-bought meats. Some of it was even better. All her children wholeheartedly agreed. 

I never ever imagined that such plenty lay at the side of the road.

            The town of Strathroy is surrounded by green space. A few small towns like Watford and Mt.Brydgessit just out of reach. Otherwise, fields and forest and pasture follow you throughout the area. It is the picture of Southern Ontario, Canada. Its charm lies in the standard fare. Cornfields, herds of cow and horse litter the scenic tour one might take. It is  not far to the 402 highway. It is not far to Poplar Hill, then to Denfield, then to Stratford, all on the way home. My folks built their house in 1980 and remain on the property to this day. My mom died here. My dad carries on here. Just down the street and one finds themselves on the 10^th concession, a shortcut to the northern edge of neighbouring London. You can skip a lot of traffic heading this way. I use the back direction mostly to make my descent. You can go pretty fast along this country road. I was doing around 90 km when the cat just jumped out at me. Unfortunately for the cat, he bounced off the car and ended up dead in the middle of the road. I pulled the car over. I got out, walked over to it and proceeded to check if it was dead. It most certainly was. I pulled that orange tabby across the road by one of its paws and softly tossed it into the long grasses that grow along the side of the road.

            I was clocking around 100 km when the ball bounced out onto the road. I didn’t even have time to brake when the dog did too. Only one of them bounced to safety. The other one met its end. I don’t know how many times I have hit an animal, like a bird or a stupid squirrel. I always stop if I can. This day met no exception and I pulled over to the side of the road and got out of my car. They knew it was not my fault. You could tell they knew, they should have leashed the old puppy, especially on a busy county road. It was heartbreaking to see that little girl crying over her best friend. I offered my sincerest apology and then I offered my assistance if they wanted to bury him. I didn’t even wash my hands before I got back into the car. I just wanted to escape how I felt. I went from killer to gravedigger all in one swoop. As I sped away, I looked back on the scene and I noticed that no one was standing at the side of the road.

            My car has killed at least 1000 birds. While that may not be an accurate estimation, it feels like it at any rate. While driving, I have rammed them, dinged them, squished them and have run a few over, I am sure. Most times, birds have me convinced that at heart they are truly stupid. Even a chipmunk knows not to run into oncoming traffic. Over and over, some idiot beak will take a chance and play chicken, so to speak. More than a few have bounced off the car and landed on the side of the road. It can feel like it is littered with the corpses of one species after another. The damn things just keep flying right into my way. I often feel like they deserve to die for doing so. I rarely stop for any bird smaller than a hawk, not that I have firsthand knowledge of such an event. If a large blue heron met the front of my speeding car, I would most certainly pull over and investigate its fate. The rest of them will have to settle for the side of the road.

            My brother and his wife at the time lived outside the Strathroy area but in the country nonetheless. The town of Alvinston was barely a village at the time but it served my sibling and his family well. For years they lived in a large white colonial home. The grounds were huge, at least 4 acres. It was a country drive home every day for him. In the fall and winter, he drove back home mostly in the dark. Any change in the weather made the road even more dangerous. One night, my brother had no need for bad weather. Out of nowhere (although it was probably the woods), a large doe jumped out from the passenger side of the car, leaping right into the oncoming vehicle. He hit the creature full on, killing it instantly. He got out of his car, checked the scene then popped the trunk. Using some handy rope, he managed to tie the beast to the back of the car and he drove away into the night. He didn’t leave a morsel at the side of the road.

            My brother’s home was beautiful. Polished silver and blended patterns made the place stink of culture and class. It was nice to live there, I am sure. On occasion, my family used to vary the host when planning the annual Christmas gathering. My brother pulled the proverbial rabbit out of that year’s hat. The place was actually quite lovely, or so I remember it to be. The meal was extravagant, with multiple choice in meat such as turkey, ham or roast of beef. All that beef sure looked good to me. I have to admit a pink centre is my carnivorous delight. I looked around for the horseradish then took a good portion of the meat and laid it on my plate. The first piece I remember well. It sort of burned at the back of my throat like an aftertaste would. You could discern the wild in it. I could feel the slight sting as I swallowed just one piece more. I had never eaten anything before, nor since,  that came from the side of the road.

            A carcass is not garbage, especially if you put it there. You have an obligation, if possible, to at least remove it from the line of fire. I almost scream when I see some rodent or canine or cat, dead as a doornail in the middle of the road. Too many times have I been witness to guts and no glory. If you can stop, get it out of the way. Always be safe but if you can, spare the critter from a nastier fate. You never know who you might be sparing from a gruesome discovery. It is okay to be kind to animals too. Hell, someone might even need it as a food source. There is a grocery store along the highway, it seems. I suppose that one good thing about being human is you don’t have to worry about people eating you if you should die at the side of the road.

http://carolinawildlife.org/deer-in-the-headlights/